


didn’t they tell you i was a savage

by happywriter16



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Black Character(s), Canon Character of Color, F/M, Female Character of Color, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Interracial Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Raylan being a jerk, Vaginal Fingering, Workplace Sex, it's my fic i can do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywriter16/pseuds/happywriter16
Summary: You needed me
  
  Ooh, you needed me
  
  Feel a little more and give a little less
  
  Know you hate to confess
  
  But, baby, who, you needed me





	1. Chapter 1

“Why are you the only one left?”

“If I was the only one left, I wouldn’t be talking to you.” 

“Good point.” He’s smiling at her, leaning up against his doorway, arms crossed. He’s wearing his uniform – black jeans, button down (blue today) with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark brown cowboy boots. His hat hangs on the coat rack in his office.

“Come into my office.” He waits a beat then turns to go inside. She takes a deep breath then pushes away from the desk, pushing her skirt down a bit where it had ridden up while she was sitting down. She turns off her lamp then the computer. 

In the doorway, she says, “I was just about to go.”

“Have a drink.”

She’d been warned about him. Deputy Chief Raylan Givens. Damn fine marshal with a lengthy record of justified shootings. More than anyone. Fastest gun anywhere. Bit of an asshole. More than a bit depending on whom you ask. Also, depending on whom you ask, damn fine boss or just okay. His predecessor went to bat for him for the job when others said no way. 

Sexy as hell, too. She had that told her so many times she can’t remember how many. Legendary reputation as a ladies’ man. At least before he got the Deputy Chief job. All the stories predate his time in the chair. Some say he’s better at being discreet because no way he’s stopped. Married once. Didn’t last. 

“You never have a drink with me.”

“I didn’t know drinking with the boss was a requirement.”

She’s often the only one left in the office late night besides him. Last out, first in seems to be his motto, which surprised the ones that didn’t want him for the job. They didn’t believe he’d take the position seriously. 

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” 

“Maybe it’s not you I’m proving anything to.”

“Bullshit, Rachel.”

“Everything is not about you.”

The only light in the office is his desk lamp, his face in shadow. He just smiles, drops his head a bit like she’s so naïve to believe that. 

When she hasn’t moved by the time he lifts his head back up, he says, “I’m not going to beg.” 

She enters the office and takes the drink he sat on the edge of his desk. When it’s at her lips, he tells her, “Take a seat on the couch.” Her eyes go up in her head like she’s thinking about not listening. She turns and takes a seat, crossing her legs at the ankles. 

When he told her take a seat, he thought she’d put it down and then walk out. She surprised him by actually listening just like she did when she took the drink. 

She’s been in the office about a year and he’s wanted her just as long. Sexiest woman he’s had the pleasure of working with since Karen back in Miami. Sexy even when she wears her typical uniform – dark pants, dark top, flats, no makeup, hair in a ponytail, small silver studs in her ears. 

Today’s different. He’s been distracted all day. White silk blouse with pearl buttons. Black fitted skirt, snug, just enough give to not be inappropriate, with a slit up the back. Black heels. Hair curled and hitting her shoulders. 

She had court today. The prosecutor, Maggie Smith Jones, told her to dress like a woman, said, “Trust me Rachel. I don’t like it. But it is what it is. It’s gotten better. I’ve been at this eleven years. My suits used to be tighter, heels a little higher. People like things in pretty packages. Juries around here are old fashioned. You’re a black woman and a marshal at that. They’ll listen to you more if you dress like a lady.”

Rachel had bristled at that, was in a foul mood all day. She wouldn’t talk about it until she nearly bit the head off Tim, her buddy. Raylan had called her into his office and made her tell him what was wrong. 

“Rachel, what’s more important – a conviction or thumbing your nose at a bunch of rednecks?” Rachel seemed to get angrier. “This ain’t the case to take a stand on. You being here is progress. Appreciate that. Baby steps.” She left without saying a word. He wasn’t sure she would listen. He hoped her dedication to the job would win out. He knew it had when she showed up after testifying. The sight of her went straight to his dick. 

“How did it go?”

She rolls her eyes then takes a sip. “Mike Roost is an asshole.” He barks a laugh. She tells him about her day. By the time she’s done she’s had a second drink and her legs are tucked under her. He’s watched her, half listening, half dreaming of what it’d be like to lay her out on that couch. 

“Welcome to Roost Country. His father, Mitch, was the same way. Got Arlo out of too much trouble. He did his job. I still hate Mitch’s guts.”

Arlo Givens' reputation is well known. And will be as long as his son is a lawman, a marshal at that, the Deputy Chief for half the state. A big ole fuck you to the old man as it has been described to her.

She’s surprised he mentions Arlo. Every time someone does, he looks like he’s made a mental note to shoot that person later. Since he’s the one who mentioned his father’s name, he looks pained. The look passes and then he’s back to looking at her like he wants to know what’s under her clothes. 

It’s not the first time she’s caught him looking at her like that. He’s never been shy about making his feelings known. Never touching, just comments. Nothing she hasn’t had to deal with since day one of training to be a marshal. Her mama had said, “You gonna do what you want. Always been one to never let anyone get in your way. I just wish you didn’t pick such a hard road.” It’s been a hard road. Everybody underestimating her. Subtle and not so subtle racism, sexism. Some of it downright misogynistic.

By the time she gets to Lexington, she expects the comments. But never in front of anyone else, careful to make it clear she’s just like one of the guys.

He’s not the first attractive man to make comments, even make advances. He is the first that makes her want to take him up on his offers. She’ll blame it on a lot of things. He’s walking sex. The ladies that warned her didn’t lie. He really does respect her work, really does think she belongs. He stands up for her when others give her shit, when they don’t take her seriously. She appreciates that at the same time she wants to punch him when he slips back into the flirting.

She’s blame the alcohol tonight. Stretching out on the couch, rubbing her legs together, wondering if he can hear the soft rustle of her stockings. 

“If I asked you to come here, would you?”

“Ask me and find out.”

“Come here.”

She smiles but doesn’t move right away. 

Minutes pass before she does, standing slowly, adjusting her blouse and skirt, smoothing down the fabric like she has to make herself presentable. She slips her heels back on. She walks toward him confidently.

He pushes back from his desk to make room for her to stand. She perches on the edge, hands holding onto the edge of the desk. 

This close he can smell the faint scent of vanilla. “Take off your panties.”

She hitches up her skirt, reaches under and pulls them down. Black lace. Her stockings stay on. Thigh highs. She lets the panties fall to the floor. 

He smiles as he leans forward, his hands starting at her calves and then moving them up her legs. She watches him, shivering slightly at his touch. 

Alcohol. It’s the alcohol’s fault. Definitely. And it’s been so long since a man’s had his hands on her, a man that wasn’t trying to do her physical harm or a pat on the back for a job well done. And truth be told, the way he’s been looking at her all day, has had her distracted since she got into the office. 

He’s a son of a bitch. 

He’s got calluses in the same places as her. His more pronounced. His rough skin catches on her stockings, probably going to make them run. 

His thumbs are on the inside of her thighs, stopping when they just touch her lips. He hadn’t been looking at her, focused on his hands. When he stops, he looks up like there’s time for her to change her mind. She opens her legs to let him know she won't. 

He takes his right hand and slips a finger between her folds, slowly going from top to bottom. She shudders a little. “Pull your skirt up more.” She does as she’s told. She pulls it until her pussy is half showing, the material bunched up under her upper thighs. He uses more fingers to open her up, one finger finding her clit. The first touch elicits another shudder. 

He keeps pressing, moving in small circles, watching as she reacts favorably to his ministrations. After a while he stops, hand sliding down to slip fingers inside her. 

She’s gotten wetter, breath heavier, sweat on her skin. 

He’s seen her happy, a wide smile with dimples bracketing. He’s seen her angry, eyes darker than normal and tension flowing off her in waves. He likes her best like this. Eyes half mast, mouth opening on sighs and moans. Throat exposed, flush all the way down to chest, what he can see from the opening in her blouse. Just the hint of skin is exposed and something about being all covered up except for the tops of her thighs, her pussy makes him close his eyes willing himself not to come. 

His dick gets harder with every moan, at every shudder. He moves his hand back to her clit. By the time she comes from touching her clit again, he barely has any blood anywhere else than his groin. He doesn’t move his hand as she comes down off her high. He watches her, rubbing between her folds, every now again getting another shudder. 

When her eyes finally open, he slips two fingers inside her, slightly rough, but the slide kind of smooth due to her wetness. 

“Fuck yourself on my fingers.” She makes him wait again. He doesn’t care. He’s gotten everything he wanted thus far tonight. She can have this power. 

She starts to move up and down, slow going at first, adjusting to the feel of him. He lets her go at it for a while until he has to start moving his hand. He adds a third finger and that gets the loudest moan he’s heard from her. He nearly comes in his pants. 

They’re working in unison, his hand pumping in and out of her fast, she pushing down on his. He can feel her juices sliding down his hand, tickling the skin of his right wrist. 

When she comes, it not as big as the first, but it’s enough to have his hands going to undo his pants.

Rachel feels him pull away and hears the chair roll away, the back of it hitting the wall. She doesn’t know how long she stays leaning against the desk before she opens her eyes again. 

He’s got his cock out, right hand holding the base like he’s trying not to come. Then he’s standing, pants slipping down slightly. She sits up a little straighter as he gets into her space again. But he doesn’t go to her. He bends down and pulls open a drawer. He pulls out a towel.

“Wouldn’t want to mess up that skirt of yours.” He hands her the towel while at the same time he takes her right hand and places it on his dick. Then he’s opening up the first two buttons of her blouse, his eyes never leaving hers. He leans in when he’s done and kisses the spot where neck and shoulder meet. 

He’s hot and heavy in her hand. Pulsing even. It’s a little rough at first, her calluses catching on his skin. The way his breath hitches in her ear makes her smile. She’s got him like he had her. 

She takes the precome dribbling out the head and spreads it over him and starts jerking in earnest, making sure she thumbs under the head every now and again. He comes soon after she starts, a bite to her spot he had kissed earlier. She jerks, calls him by his first name on a shout. 

He runs his tongue over the spot, kisses it again and then pulls away. He takes the towel away from her and turns to clean himself up. 

“This can’t happen again.”

Raylan wasn’t expecting her to say that. He thought they had turned a corner, finally getting what he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on her. He figured it’d never happen. His subordinate. Never once letting on she was the least bit interested. Also, she's too good for him.

The anger rises in him fast. When he turns, she’s already walking out. He’s tempted to follow after her and bring her back. Lay her out on the couch and lick her open until she’s coming on his tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

She doesn’t know what’s worse. Him ignoring her or his anger, what he does to get back at her.

Garland is an asshole. He hates her for her very existence. He’s a man from another time, which isn’t really that long ago when looking at how long man’s been on earth. Garland thinks women have their place and so do black people, and it’s far from the marshal service except to be pretty secretaries (women) and clean (black people). Prior to that night in his office, Raylan rarely paired Garland with her. She can count on two fingers how many times she’s had to work with him before that night. Now? She seems to be paired with him a lot.

Whenever she comes back from working with Garland, Raylan’s always there with a smartass remark. She bites her tongue less she find herself without a job. Rachel schools her face into a neutral expression as she takes what he dishes out.

Rachel’s chance to get back at Raylan presents itself in the form of one Mr. Boyd Crowder. A legend in his own right. Him and Raylan, modern day Capone and Ness let the old timers in the service tell it. Local in Harlan, too. Old friends turned enemies but not quite either one depending on who you talk to.

She’s never met Boyd before, only heard about him. He was a resident of McCreary Prison for the first year and a half of her tenure in the Lexington Field Office.  


Old dogs and old tricks as the saying goes finds Boyd back in the sights of the Marshals. She finds herself stuck in car with Raylan on the three hour drive to Harlan. Not a word is said the whole way down. She won’t give him the satisfaction of asking why her and not Tim who was at the office with nothing to do.

 

“Well now, if it isn’t my favorite Marshal. Raylan Givens as I live and breath,” Boyd says, all alligator smile and false sincerity as he enters the main bar area from a back room.

“Boyd.”

“And my soon to be my new favorite Marshal.” Boyd extends a hand and isn’t fazed when Rachel doesn’t take it.

“Marshal Brooks.”

“First name?”

“You can call me Marshal Brooks.” Boyd laughs.

“Oh, I like you. I can tell you’ll be fun.”

Rachel can feel the air shift or maybe it’s just Raylan shifting his weight from one foot to the other in agitation.

“Mr. Crowder,” Rachel begins.

Boyd interrupts. “Even though you wouldn’t do me the pleasure of telling me your first name, call me Boyd.” Rachel smiles, wider than she would have if Raylan wasn’t there, when she wouldn’t know Boyd liking her is all about pissing Raylan off. 

Rachel opens her mouth to speak again when Raylan interrupts this time. “Enough with the pleasantries Boyd. What do you know about the bank robbery in Jackson.”  


“You do know I’m not the only bank robber – reformed bank robber – in the state?”

“You are the only bank robber who likes to blow stuff up.”

“Copy cat.”

Boyd hasn’t left her side. In fact he seems to have stepper closer. He turns to her. “Ms. Brooks, Raylan doesn’t believe a man can change. He’s probably the same old asshole I used to know. Just older and more self-righteous.” Rachel can’t help it, she laughs, which makes Boyd smile like a chessy cat as her mom says. “I’ll take that smile for now.”

The rest of their time with Boyd goes like that. 

 

An hour outside Harlan Raylan stops at a Holiday Inn. He parks and goes inside. Rachel sits and waits. Ten minutes later and Raylan’s at her window. She makes him wait a few minutes before she rolls it down. He drops a key card in to her lap. “Room 415.” She watches the hard set of his shoulders as he walks back in to the building.

Rachel has options. She can call Tim except she’d have to explain how she wound up an hour outside Harlan alone without their boss. She could call her mom except Nick’s got a soccer game tonight. She’s got friends, one or two is close enough to do it. It’s still a big favor and when both of those friends have kids. She could get a room for herself or pay for the ride back. Both are out of her packet and the hotel will probably be cheaper.

“No more rooms,” the clerk says to her.

“Really?”

“Gentleman before you came in and got the last room.”

“Half the lot is empty.”

He hesitates. “Construction on a lot of rooms so we don’t have all available to rent.”

Rachel knows he’s lying. But she’s not going to do what she’d do to a suspect. That just wouldn’t be nice. She thinks she could sleep in the car. “Thank you,” she says going to the closest chair in the lobby.

She’s been sitting there about fifteen minutes when the clerk leaves to answer a phone call coming from the back office. Rachel takes the elevator to the fourth floor.  


Raylan’s standing in the middle of the room when she opens the door, his back to her. His hat and jacket lay on the bed like he just threw them there. The only thing he does to acknowledge her presence is a slight turn of his head to the right. She drops what she has on the closest flat surface and goes into the bathroom. She does her business then stares her reflection in the mirror. She steels her spine for whatever’s about to happen.

Rachel’s only a few inches outside the bathroom before she’s pushed against the wall, hard enough for it to hurt. There’s isn’t enough space on the wall for her whole body so the edge of the wall digs slightly into her right side.

“I can’t get it again but I’m sure you’d give it up for Boyd over and over.” His voice is pitched low and he looks at his hand on her chest and not at her. She can’t read his eyes, what he’s thinking. 

“It’s the hair,” Rachel responds. Raylan laughs, sounds like surprise, like he couldn’t help it.

He doesn’t say anything else after his laughter dies down, neither does she try to fill the silence. 

Rachel can make her eyes and mouth as defiant as she wants but she can’t stop her heart from beating as hard as it’s going. Raylan can feel it under his palm, steady thump almost the only sound in the room. 

He moves his hand up her chest to her neck, his thumb coming to rest on her pulse point. He rubs his thumb over it. She’s not scared. There’s no pressure on her neck. Rachel’s doesn’t believe he’d hurt her. Though she only works with him, has been for the last 18 months but she doesn’t know him. What he’s truly capable of when he wants something he can’t have and it’s not a fugitive that got away.

His expression changes like he likes the change in her pulse. Then he’s pushing a thigh between her legs. With the height differential, she’s sitting on his knee.

Rachel feels his other hand start pulling her shirt up then feels it go under her shirt. It’s sliding up her belly to the edge of her bra. Then it’s edging into the little space between fabric and skin.

The first flick of his thumb on her nipple gets to her. She doesn’t let it show though that it’s bothering her. His left hand follows what his right hand had done making it harder to stay there and not react.

Rachel can only assume Raylan takes her non-reaction as some sort of challenge because his next move is to put push his knee a little higher, pushing it between them so that her pussy in pressed firmly on it. With every movement of his thumbs, he pushes up with that knee.

Raylan leans in after a while to kiss the exposed skin of her chest. The kisses are softer than she’d expected, almost tentative, definitely teasing. At first any way. Rachel is only human and she remembers that night in his office. She can’t help that after awhile she’s pushing down on his knee of her accord and her hands scratch at the wall.

He keeps at it like he’d be content to do what he’s doing for a long while. Like his end game isn’t to get her into the bed that’s only a few feet away. That she knows. So that’s the thought running through her end when he pulls back to look at her.

“I’m not going to beg,” she tells him, the words too breathy for her liking but she can’t help it. She may not even have to beg. But he wants her to say something to say she wants this. She won’t.

Raylan’s mouth goes into a straight line, eyes darken even more before he’s on her again. This time, his mouth on hers. A painful clash of teeth that sends a shot pain through her head before it’s replaced by heat flooding all through her body.

One of his hands has found its way into her panties, a finger sliding between her folds to press inside her. Raylan swallows the sounds she makes and she squirms against him. It’s a tight fit, his hand in her pants. It’s not for long. She pushes her pants and panties down as far she as can without losing contact with his mouth.  


Then Rachel’s working on his zipper, then sliding his pants and boxers down until the fabric is bunched up under his balls. Her hand on his cock is releases a moan from him. He lets her jack him off for a bit, wetting his cock with the precome that’s dripping out of the head.

Meanwhile, he’s pumping one lone finger in and out of her. He can tell it’s not enough from the way her legs keep opening and closing around his hand. She also pushes forward every so often, chasing his thumb that ghosts over her clit.

No, she won’t beg in words. This’ll do.

Raylan eventually spins her around and pushes her to lean on the dresser next to them. He presses down on her lower back to get her into a better position. Then he’s on her, dick pressed up against the crack of her ass, sliding down until his head teasingly close to her entrance.

No, she doesn’t beg in words. She just pushes into him while he slides inside in one long stroke. It’s a slow glide until her ass is flush with his pelvis. He has to still himself to keep from coming right then and there.

When he starts up, it’s all the way out and all the way back in fast, hard, like he’s trying to push all the air out of her. It’s almost punishing the pace, the hard slap of skin on skin feeling the air. His hands on her hip hurt, his grip tight to keep from sliding in the sweat forming on her skin.

Raylan realizes his shirt is getting in the way. He does his best to pull it off without stopping. “Take your damn jacket and shirt off,” he growls at her.

Rachel hikes up her shirt as far as up as she can get it. Taking it off isn’t an option. No way she’s letting go on the dresser with what he’s doing. It’s all she can do to stay upright.

It does feel good. So good that her finger ache for holding on so hard. Her toes curl inside her sensible shoes. She moans and moans and moans.

He runs his hands up the expanse of what skin is exposed after she hikes up her top. His hands slide around his belly and again up under her bra. All of this requires him to slow down, just slow shallow thrusts, which seem to annoy her, if the movement of her hips are any indication.

Raylan makes her wait, acts like he doesn’t know what she wants as he mouths along her neck. It’s only when she says his name does he move faster.

He slides his hand around her front to find her clit and starts rubbing, eliciting new moans from her. After a while though, focusing on both is a bit much for him to handle. She pushes his hand away and he can tell by the movement of her right hand, she’s getting herself off.

She’s making different sounds now, almost wild. Not the sound she made the last time. Well last time he wasn’t fucking her through an orgasm. It spurs him on to fuck her as hard and fast as he can.

He just grunts with the force of his thrusts, a steady pace until his moves get a bit erratic and the tenor of his grunts change. It’s possible for him to go harder because he does pushing her up on her toes. It’s hard to ground himself with his pants still around his ankles. Raylan does his best.

He comes with a shout, one last hard thrust that has her falling forward.

She can feel the sweaty skin of his belly on her lower back. Raylan’s pressed against her, harsh breaths on the back of her neck. This time the steady thump of his heart she feels in on her back, their two hearts, the sounds in her ears.

Eventually he pulls back, their skin pulling apart stings. His cock slipping out of her, his cum sliding out right behind it.

“You said my name,” Raylan tells her. He’s being smug. “Sounded like begging to me.”

“Trust me you’ll know when I beg.”

“Is that a challenge?”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from Needed Me by Rihanna. The first time I heard this song, I thought of Raylan and Rachel and him saying, “Fuck yourself on my fingers.” I don’t condone sexual harassment. My muse is terrible. This takes place in the early 1980s.


End file.
